“Will receive me personal attention,”Mistress Ross assured him, still staring at the gold. “Ye have me word.”
As Hector turned to leave,she cleared her throat.
“If I might say,Me Laird. It does an old heart good to see Castle McCulloch with a lady again. Yer maither and sister are fine women, but a young lass brings a different light to a home.”
Hector fixedher with a stern look. “The lass is under me protection. Nothin’ more.”
“Of course, Me Laird.”Mistress Ross bowed slightly and stepped back.
But as hestepped outside and found Gabriella waiting by Noah’s side, her face turned up toward the sun, he wondered if he was trying to convince the seamstress or himself.
Noah maintained his vigilant watch,holding the reins of both horses.
“The dresses will be deliveredto the castle later today,” Hector announced, drawing her attention. “We have time for a meal before heading back.”
“The horses?”Gabriella questioned, glancing at the stallion that had carried them both.
“We’ll stable them for now,”Hector replied. “The tavern’s just across the square—easier to walk than to ride such a short distance.”
Noah called a passing boy,who came running. “Take these to Floyd’s stable,” he instructed, handing over the reins, along with a few coins. “They’ll need water and oats.”
“Aye, Sir,”the boy replied, leading the horses away.
Noah fellinto step behind them as Hector guided Gabriella through the bustling market square. He maintained a respectful distance, close enough to protect but far enough to allow conversation.
The villagers parted for them,offering bows and curtsies to their Laird. Hector acknowledged them with brief nods, accustomed to such deference.
What he did not appreciate wasthe way the men’s gazes lingered on Gabriella. Their eyes followed her movements, taking in her graceful gait, the way the morning light caught the brown threads in her hair, and the gentle sway of her hips beneath her plain blue dress. He saw appreciation in their stares—and something hungrier that made his blood simmer.
A burning furyrose in his chest, primal and possessive. How dare they look at her like that? How dare they feast their eyes on what was?—
The thought stopped him cold.What washis? When had he begun thinking of her in such terms?
But the rationalpart of his mind was drowned out by the overwhelming urge to plant his fist in every face that dared to appreciate her beauty. To make it clear to every man in the village that she was under his protection, that she was his.
His jaw clenchedas he fought the irrational desire to pull her closer, to stake his claim somehow. Instead, he moved slightly nearer to her, close enough that his presence would be unmistakable to any observer.
The subtle shiftput him between her and the most brazen of the stares, his larger frame shielding her from them.
“Laird McCulloch!”a burly blacksmith called out. “Fine day for the market!”
“Aye, Hamish,”Hector replied. “How fares the forge?”
“Busy with spring plantin’tools,” the blacksmith answered, his gaze shifting to Gabriella with undisguised curiosity.
Hector placedhis hand on the small of Gabriella’s back, a gesture that declared his protection to any watching eyes. The action wasn’t planned, but came instinctively. He felt her stiffen momentarily, then relax beneath his touch.
“The Highland Thistlehas fresh venison stew today,” he said as they approached a stone building with a weathered wooden sign. “Best in the region.”
The tavern wasa respectable establishment frequented by merchants and local craftsmen. As they entered, the warm scent of peat smoke and cooking meat enveloped them. Conversations paused momentarily as the patrons recognized their Laird, then resumed at a slightly lower volume.
“Laird McCulloch!”The tavern keeper hurried forward, wiping his hands on his apron. “An honor! Yer table is available.”
Hector guidedGabriella to a corner table with a clear view of both the door and the hearth. He pulled out a chair for her, positioning her with her back to the wall—a protective habit he’d developed during years of skirmishes.
Noah tookup a position near the door, his stance relaxed but his eyes alert.
“Bring yer best stew,”Hector instructed the tavern keeper. “Bread, cheese, and whatever greens ye have fresh today.” He glanced at Gabriella. “And cider rather than ale.”
